


These Are a Few of Their Favourite Things

by Tygermama



Category: The Losers - All Media Types
Genre: DORKS THEY ARE ALL DORKS, Fluff, Gen, I can't write them being badasses or being angsty, but by god can I write them being dorks!, no nutritional value
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 11:53:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3208205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tygermama/pseuds/Tygermama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what they do when they aren't blowing shit up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Avoiding Monopoly mostly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Are a Few of Their Favourite Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coinin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coinin/gifts).



See, the thing everyone knows about spec ops (or hunting down a voice that presumably came from a throat) is that there are long stretches of absolutely fuck all to do.

And it’s boring as fuck all.

And people find all kinds of ways to fill their time when they are bored.

Like talk shit.

Or play games. Board games. Card games. Word games. 

Or talk shit while playing said games.

You definitely find out who on your team is a sore loser. It’s a learning experience.

And sometimes you’re in a beat up one bedroom apartment, trying not to step on one another and doing everything you can to get the time to pass.

~~~

“Picard.” Jensen said, not looking up from the laptop he was fixing.

Pooch shook his head, still reading his car magazine, “Sisko.” 

Jensen shook his head, it’s not that Sisko wasn’t awesome but he was no- “Picard! Pooch, my man, come on...”

Pooch snorted, “Sisko! The man could cook, J!” He got Jolene because he could cook. Cooking is important.

“Sisko. Now both of you shut up.” Roque sat down on the couch, cup of coffee in hand.

“Roque, you’re just sayin~” Jensen reached down into the box of parts beside him and fished around. Picard was smart and sexy. Gave a scrawny geek boy hope.

“Finish that sentence and die, whitebread. Sisko punched Q, Picard ended up in bed with him. Sisko.” Roque took a sip of his coffee. Sisko was one ruthless motherfucker when he had to be. Roque respected that.

“Kirk.” Clay was sitting at the table, hunting and pecking as he typed out an email to a contact. Kirk was a good leader. Never gave up and good with the ladies.

“Shut the fuck up, Clay. You’ll get’em started again.” Roque snapped. Everyone knows you think you are Kirk, you asshole.

Jensen sighed. No, not another thinly veiled ‘I am Kirk’ rant. “Okay, okay, okay. No more ‘Best Captain’.”

“Damn straight, no more ‘Best Cap-” Pooch threw his magazine down on the coffee table and picked up - Who the hell bought ‘Creative Knitting Magazine’?

“Best Sherlock!” Jensen blurted out. Clay’s Kirk thing was just disturbing and what the hell was Pooch doing with his magazine? His niece’s birthday was coming up and he wanted some new ideas for her birthday sweater. It was going to be hard to top last year’s unicorn sweater with ribbon mane and tail.

“If any of you say anything other than Jeremy Brett, I’ll kill you all in your sleep.” Aisha said, doing pullups on the bar across the kitchen door. Aisha judges all Sherlock Holmes adaptations by how they treat Irene Adler. Modern interpretations have left her unimpressed. 

“Yes, Aisha.” they all chorused.

Jensen muttered ‘Basil of Baker Street’ under his breath and tried to figure out something else for them to do. They were so fucking bored it’s a wonder they hadn’t tried to kill each other yet.

“Best Doctor?” They’d all watched an episode or five of Doctor Who over the years. It was on syndication in forty some countries and you hadn’t really lived until you heard Cybermen threaten Daleks in Hungarian.

“Four” Roque said without thinking. He remembered a crazy white dude who loved candy but not much more. All the other ones annoyed the shit out of him except Ten, who wasn’t on long enough.

“I loved that robot dog, man.” Pooch said, sighing. Holy shit would he have loved to have opened that puppy up and seen what made him tick. So what if he cried a little when Sarah got K-9 in her own show. Just a show. Man can have feelings. Oh, right. Jensen’s annual sweater for his niece. And there was a nice shawl Jolene would like in that magazine. He’d have to get Jensen to make it for her.

“Isn’t he the one with the scarf?” Clay remembered the scarf mostly because Jensen has spent most of one mission knitting himself on and bitching to everyone about how many different Fourth Doctor scarf patterns there were. There was something about a hot flight attendant too? Shit. It was sweater time. He’d have to make sure Jensen remembered to get some wool.

“Sarah Jane was the best classic companion,” Aisha dropped down to the floor and went over to the sink to wash her hands. Sarah Jane was the best classic companion, with Ace close behind. Martha was the best NuWho companion and she’d stabbed the last person who’d tried to say ‘you just like her because you’re black.’ Martha was smart, strong, determined and had self-respect.

“Oh. My. God. Aisha is a Whovian! Aisha is a Whovian!” Jensen was thrilled. Jensen was elated. Jensen would have gotten up and danced around the room but he had lapful of computer components. 

Pooch checked out Aisha and saw the look on her face. He knew that look. It was the ‘omg what did I just say. fuck you Jensen’ look everyone wore when they admitted to dorky things in Jensen’s presence. The boy knew no shame or had any understanding of maintaining a rep. 

“Jay, shut up. You’re gonna die.”

Jensen scoffed and waved Pooch away, “You say that so often it’s become totally meaningless to me.”

Everyone else rolled their eyes. Just another example of Jensen’s lack of self-preservation.

“No really, Jensen. They’re gonna kill you and I’m gonna let them.” Clay was pretty sure the only reason Aisha hadn’t killed Jensen yet was because she was morbidly fascinated by how weird he was. The universe’s most bizarre defense mechanism.

“That’s cold, Clay. Super cold. Okay, last one. I swear.” Jensen idly sorted through the parts on his lap, trying to think of something. Anything.

If they got too bored it could lead to horrible things. Like Charades (Roque tackling Clay to the floor and pummelling the shit out of him for not getting ‘float like a butterfly, sting like a bee’) or Monopoly (Pooch and Cougar breaking into a construction site to steal drywall so they could patch up their quarters themselves so the brass didn’t find out why their CO had been taking pot shots at them) or Jenga (we do not speak of Jenga) and that was the shit they got into before Aisha was around. 

“Sigourney Weaver.” Cougar said from where he had been stretched out on an air mattress in the corner of the room.

“Like ‘Best Sigourney Weaver role’?”

Sigourney Weaver was a goddess. Alien. Aliens. Galaxy Quest.

“No. Just. Sigourney Weaver.” Cougar said, rolling his r’s a little more than usual. 

Cougar had a type. And no shame about it whatsoever.

Of course, Clay, Roque, Jensen and possibly even Aisha had the same type too.

‘Vasquez.’ Aisha said, her voice slightly breathy.

Roque smirked and shook his head in wry agreement. Jensen blushed. Pooch just looked off dreamily.

Clay squirmed in his seat. It was embarrassing how women who could, and probably would at some point, kill him turned him on.

**Author's Note:**

> I loved your letter and am sorry I couldn't give you all the AUs and crossovers you asked for (seriously that letter must have been dusted with plot bunny crack, TOO MANY IDEAS) but I hope you enjoy this slice of ridiculous life.


End file.
